Mutatis Mutandis: The Adventures of a Young Jean Grey
by KyronP
Summary: 17 year old psychic Jean Grey is compelled to move to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters to master her powerful abilities under Professor Xavier. Xavier teaches several other mutants her age, something she's rarely ever experienced before. Follow young Jean Grey as she comes into her own as a woman, a mutant and eventually a founding member of the X-men. Starts in 1982. R&R
1. Chapter 1

**_August 1982_**

 _1407 Graymalkin Lane, Westchester County, NY_.

Those were the words in big, cold, harsh letters etched into the high, stone wall next to the hulking, metal gate. Under the address was engraved, _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_ in a solid gold plate.

"I think this is it, miss," said the cabbie, Nasir, putting the car in park. He was a middle-aged, Pakistani man with a big stomach and a thick mustache and he was wearing a New York Giants cap that held his unruly, jet-black hair under it.

He had been very nice to her, chatting her up about how he couldn't wait for football season to come back around again. He told her all about his two kids, one of whom was on the fast track towards becoming a neurosurgeon, while the other was on the honor roll in high school. She hadn't really cared about the details of his everyday life, but she understood how unbearably silent and uneventful it could be driving a cab so she responded with the expected 'Wow!' or 'That's so great!' because she knew that was what he wanted to hear.

Her mind was very much elsewhere, probably back in the City.

"There's an intercom. You want me to click it and see if someone will open up this gate? The house seems like it's pretty far away from the gate. I wouldn't want you to walk it with all your bags," said Nasir.

"Thank you," she said.

He stretched his arm out and pressed hard on the button that had a little bell icon on it.

"Yes?" said a high-pitched voice, emanating from the intercom in a thick, Russian accent. "May I help you?"

The beautiful, red-headed seventeen-year-old in the backseat of Nasir's rundown cab in the bright yellow, v-neck sweater, denim mini-skirt and vintage, white go-go boots wound down the glass and leaned out the window.

"Hi, good morning. I'm Jean Grey. Professor Xavier should be expecting me."

"Oh, yes. Miss Grey," was the response. The gate slowly began to open. "Do come in."

Nasir slowly drove through the gate, admiring the vastness that was this estate: there seemed like an endless expanse of greenery but at the center of the field, just in front of the mansion, was an overdone, ostentatious fountain that spouted water high into the air. Inside the fountain, marble cherubs were at play with vases spewing water.

But that marvelous fountain couldn't light a candle to the Neoclassical mansion that Nasir stopped in front of. The mansion itself looked like it had two fully extended wings and was at least four stories tall. Pillars descended from the overarching ceiling down to the staircase that led up to the tall door. The building itself looked like it was made of solid marble. The windows were all large and Jean wondered with total bewilderment what was housed within.

A little woman who looked about seventy busily made her way down the staircase. Her grey hair was swept back into a messy chignon. She was wearing a shirt with a large flower pattern that she'd shoved into some worn mom jeans and she had on a pair of what could only be called sensible shoes.

Nasir got out of the cab and started offloading Jean's luggage from the trunk while Jean reluctantly and hesitantly dragged herself out of the cab. The little woman thrust her hand in Jean's direction.

"Good day, Miss Grey," she said, in that stern, Russian voice of hers. Jean took her hand and the woman pumped it twice with more force than Jean expected. "I'm Mrs. Makarov, housekeeper here at Xavier's. I've been here for many, many years. Since Professor Xavier was a boy."

"I see," said Jean, tucking some of her wine-colored hair behind an ear.

"And so has my husband, Vlad. He's the butler," said Mrs. Makarov. She looked to her right, where a man was busy cutting the hedges near the house. "Caesar, stop what you're doing a minute, please, and come take Miss Grey's bags."

Jean paid Nasir and thanked him for his hospitality while Mrs. Makarov led her up the staircase and into the mansion.

Jean knew that wealth and excess would have been inside but she wasn't prepared for the endless portraits of Xaviers from years gone by: women with big hair and oversized dresses; men on horseback in dapper suits; children playing with dogs. There were Persian rugs scattered over the hardwood floors and a grand staircase that led up to the second floor of the cavernous home.

"I call it the X-Mansion," said Mrs. Makarov. "Since it's been in the Xavier family for ten generations now. Down here, on the first floor, you find the library, where you and your classmates do all your classes, several sitting rooms, the music room, the dining room, the breakfast room, the Professor's office, the gym and the game room. The kitchen is in the back but Chef Devereux doesn't like too many people in there all the time. Breakfast is served promptly at eight every morning, lunch at twelve and dinner at seven. You're allowed a snack later in the evening but you'll have to make that yourself, I'm afraid, because by then Chef Devereux is already gone. Otherwise, if you'd like any other food during the course of the day, you should feel free to call down to the kitchen."

"Thank you," said Jean, nervously running her hand against her stomach. She looked down at her watch: it was only nine o'clock so she'd narrowly missed breakfast.

Mrs. Makarov led her up the staircase to the second floor. "Here you'll find the Professor's room, Mr. Eisenhardt's room, Miss Eisenhardt's room, Young Mr. Eisenhardt's room, Miss Dane's room, Mr. Summer's room, Mr. Worthington's room, Mr. McCoy's room and Mr. Drake's. I've prepared a room for you on this floor. Miss Alexandra Xavier's room. She was a famous socialite in the late eighteen-hundreds."

"So what's on the third floor?" asked Jean, curious.

"Oh, just more bedrooms," said the old woman, with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "But we don't have that many students yet. So they're vacant. And on top of that is the attic that we use as a greenhouse. The gardeners take care of them. We have a collection of beautiful and exotic flowers there. Gardening was a past time of the Professor's mother's. She loved beautiful plants. You're welcome to go up there anytime. In fact, there's an elevator right here."

She pressed a button on the wall in the hallway and the wooden wall simply opened up, a simple, metal elevator with heavy, fluorescent lights on top appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

Mrs. Makarov led her down the hallway and opened a solid mahogany door. "And this is your room, Miss Grey."

Jean ran over to the window and was amazed at how beautiful the estate looked from this vantage point. Her room was directly above the fountain as well and she wasn't exactly sure when she would be able to adjust to that noise but she supposed that she would eventually. The floor was entirely carpeted in velvet. Near the tall window stood an antique dressing table with a large, oval mirror and a lovely bench that Jean couldn't wait to christen; on another side was an open door to what looked like a walk-in closet that Jean had far too little clothes to even fill. Not even if she'd brought all of her clothes from back home would she have been able to fill it.

But the highlight of the room for her was the queen-sized, antique, four-poster canopy bed that regally stood at the back of the room. There were about six, big, fluffy pillows on it and sheets that looked like they were Egyptian cotton.

Like most girls, she had always wanted a canopy bed but New York City was a place where space was an expensive luxury that most New Yorkers couldn't afford. And while her dad was a college literature professor at Metro College and her mom was an editor at Trend Magazine, they weren't exactly one-percenters. They'd managed to get a three bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side many years ago so Jean and her sisters Sara and Julia shared one, her two brothers Liam and Robbie shared another and her parents had the master bedroom.

It wasn't much but it had been her home for her entire life.

Directly across from the bed was a portrait of a beautiful young woman who didn't look that much older than Jean herself. She was elegantly sprawled out on a chaise longue with a little pug in her lap and she was smiling ever so slightly. That must have been Miss Alexandra Xavier herself, overseeing who was the new occupant of her room.

Caesar rushed into the room and placed her bags next to the bed and then quickly ran back out, heading back out to finish his work.

"I hope you enjoy your room," said Mrs. Makarov. "I know you must be hungry so I'll have Chef Devereux make you a light snack before lunch today and he'll call when it's done." She pointed to the old-fashioned phone on a mahogany table next to the bed. It was gold and black and had one of those. "Just dial one and it will call the kitchen directly. For me, dial two. The Professor told me that he wants to see you after you're settled in. He'll be in his study down on the first floor." From her pocket she pulled out a folded up sheet of paper and handed it to Jean. "That's a map of the house. So if you get lost you can find your way. I'd give you the grand tour but I have to go help the maids dust off some of the rooms on the first floor now. Have a good day."

With a slight bow, Mrs. Makarov was gone.

Jean tossed herself on the bed and rolled around for a good three minutes. This was unbelievable. Maids, a French cook, a butler. This was the kind of life that she'd only dreamed of. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale.

Sans the prince, of course.

 _Jean, are you coming to see me?_ she heard the Professor say in her head. She hated when he communicated telepathically. It felt like an intrusion.

 _Of course, Professor_ , she responded, with a slight roll of the eyes. _I'll be there soon_.

Jean pulled herself out of her fairy tale reverie and headed out the door but when she stepped out she ran into a gorgeous young man with cascades of long, blonde hair that he'd slung over one of his broad, swimmer's shoulders. He was taller than she was by a good few inches and he had smoldering, deep-set, sky-blue eyes that were looking down at her in what she assumed was surprise. His lips were a rosy pink—rosier than hers, and she was wearing lip gloss—and he had a long, straight, patrician nose and a strong, classic jaw.

He had a T-shirt hanging over his shoulder and he was wearing a pair of really short exercise shorts and sweat dripped down his six pack. He gave Jean a smile as he placed his hands on her shoulders and attempted to steady her.

But the most startling thing about this gorgeous Adonis of a boy in front of her was the outspread, white wings that all but took up the spacious hallway. They looked like they belonged on some graceful creature, not an adolescent boy.

 _Professor Xavier has his own personal angel?_ Jean thought.

"Sorry," he said, in the silkiest voice Jean had ever heard. It made her knees weak. "I'm all sweaty from working out in the gym. I didn't see you there."

"No," she said. "It's my fault. I should have watched where I was going."

"Let's just say it's both our faults," he said, with a saucy wink at her. "I'm Warren, by the way. Warren Worthington."

"I'm Jean," she mumbled, still in awe of him. She felt her cheeks getting warmer by the second and beads of perspiration spiraling down her face. Which said something since the entire mansion was air-conditioned. "Jean Grey."

"Nice to meet you, Jean," he said, in that smooth voice of his. "I guess you're the new girl the Professor told us to expect. Me and some of the other students were going to the lake at the back. Would you like to join me?"

"I would," she eagerly admitted, "but I have to go meet with the Professor first. So maybe after?"

"Sure," he said. "See you then."

He gave her one last smile and then stepped around her, heading to his own room.

Jean giddily made her way down the staircase and unearthed the map from her back pocket. She followed it to the word and found herself in front of a tall, imposing, wooden door. She knocked silently and then she heard someone tell her to come in and she followed the instruction.

Professor Xavier was hunched over a wooden desk, writing something on a sheet of paper. He was wearing a black turtleneck and a grey blazer. He was about fifty and had the debonair look of Yul Brynner, the guy who had played the Pharoah in _The Ten Commandments_. The sunlight streaming into the room from the window behind him cast him in an otherworldly glow but all Jean could see was the sheen that reflected off his perfectly bald head.

Back when she was eleven, she'd asked him why he had cut off all his hair. He'd told her that it was a side effect of his vast psionic powers coming into their own. Powers not so different from her own. She'd immediately worried that her own burgundy hair would start to fall out soon. But he'd assured her that that wouldn't be the case. He'd put his fingers against her temples, told her to relax her mind and he'd proceeded to put a series of psychic barriers within her mind that would prevent her from using her telepathy until she was ready.

Back then she hadn't been ready for her telepathy. Not after what had happened with Annie.

"Jean," said the Professor, plastering a smile onto his face. "Have a seat, dear."

She sat down in one of the club chairs across from the Professor and looked around the room: the walls were chock full of diplomas and certificates; there were shelves full of awards he'd won; there were endless books in bookcases, some of which had his name on them, strewn about the room.

"I'm so glad you're here," said the Professor.

 _I'm not_ , Jean thought. And then she covered her mouth with her hand, as if she'd said it and not thought it.

The Professor chuckled slightly and then shook his head. "I understand that you had to give up a lot. But I hope you understand that I only asked your parents to send you here for your own good. The cacophony of the City would have only made dealing with your telepathy worse. And obviously it's been developing if it was able to break down my psychic walls."

Jean nodded in understanding. She knew exactly what he meant. She had been feeling her telepathy growing at an exponential rate over the past year and once or twice she would pick up a stray thought—sometimes mundane like her Dad planning a shopping list for when next he went to the grocery; sometimes something serious, like one of her classmates considering suicide—and she would get frustrated. She wasn't ready for her telepathy.

"I know you don't think you're ready," he told her, "but there's nothing I could do for you now if you broke my walls."

"But I didn't break them, Professor," she mused.

"Maybe not consciously," he said. "But your powers have obviously been growing. And I don't mean to sound proud, but I consider myself to have the most powerful psychic mind on the planet. A seventeen-year-old girl with almost no telepathic training shouldn't be able to break through my defenses."

Jane bit her bottom lip and looked away from him, casting her emerald green eyes to the hardwood floors. That was a scary notion, that on a subconscious level she had ousted his shields. She didn't want to have to hear everything everyone thought. Feel what everyone felt. It was something that had traumatized her for an entire summer when she was eleven and the Professor had come in to save her. Granted, that was six years ago. But she didn't want her telepathy.

He had helped her to master her telekinesis. She could lift multiple things at the same time, even the Professor and he was a grown man. Telekinesis was a like a muscle: the more she worked it out, the stronger it became.

Was telepathy the same way? Or would she feel a rush of emotions all the time like she did that day?

There was a knock at the door and then Scott Summers opened it and entered the room.

He'd gotten taller since last she'd seen him and he'd obviously been working out. His pecks pressed against his red, Ralph Lauren polo, which he'd tucked into cargo shorts, and he was wearing a pair of black loafers. His chestnut-brown hair was parted at the side and elegantly combed and he was wearing his ever present, red, ruby-quartz glasses that kept his destructive optic blasts at bay.

"Jean?" he said.

"Scotty!" she yelped, getting out of her chair and running over to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he carefully placed his arms around her little, waist.

All at once Jean felt a rush of emotion wash over her. And it wasn't hers either: it was Scott's. It was an intense feeling that was indescribable to her. All she knew was that she felt her heart start to race and her cheeks start to warm like it had with Warren.

Scott had been a long-time friend of hers. Professor Xavier used to bring him with him to New York when Jean had her sessions and he'd ask if she could take Scott around the City. They would often end up spreading a blanket in Central Park and she'd tell him all about school and he'd tell her all about living in Westchester. They'd also formed a little book club. The Professor used to come see her once a week to tutor her in her telekinesis so when he brought Scott and she and Scott went off on their own after her lesson, they'd talk about a book that they'd both read that week.

But Scott hadn't come up to Manhattan in the past year, for some reason.

"It's so nice to see you, Scott," she said, pulling away from him. The emotions dissipated almost instantaneously.

"Hi, Jean," he fumbled.

"It's been too long," she said. "And it's so nice to see yet another familiar face."

"Yeah," he said nervously. "Professor, I just wanted to return this book to you." He walked over to a shelf and replaced the book. "Sorry for interrupting."

He made a quick escape.

Jean, puzzled by her longtime friend's distance, used her telekinesis to close the door behind the long-gone Scott Summers and assumed her seat across from Professor Xavier.

"All I have to tell you is that you're not alone, Jean," he said. "In your class you have a number of students with other abilities. It's only Labor Day so classes haven't resumed. I think the students are all at the lake now soaking in the last remnant of summer. So I suggest you go get to know them."

"I already met one," Jean said, blushing at the thought of Warren again.

"I'm aware," said the Professor. "And I'm concerned. Be careful with Mr. Worthington, Jean. He's a...troublemaker."

Jean pulled herself up from her seat. "Don't worry, Professor X. I think I can take care of myself."

* * *

If you enjoyed this, please also read my other story **Rachel Summers: Daily Globe Reporter**. They're set in the same universe.


	2. Chapter 2

As John, the driver of his white, 1980 Cadillac Fleetwood Maloney limo, made a sharp turn on one of the busy streets of Manhattan, Charles Xavier's mind wandered to the purpose of his meeting with Agent Duncan. It seemed sort of strange that Fred had told him to come into New York City to meet him at new offices in Midtown. Charles hadn't even known that the CSA had offices in New York.

Normally, whenever there was a new Mutant who needed Charles' help, he would receive a phone call from Agent Duncan of the CSA, the Commission on Superhuman Activities, and Fred would send him a jet, which would take him to Washington. From there he'd be briefed and he and a team of agents would appear at the scene of the uprising and they would subdue the Mutant.

Unfortunately, there had been one or two cases of Mutants who could not be captured, even when Charles used his powers to calm them, and they had lost their lives. And some others had to be held at locations for their own safety and the safety of the American people. As the foremost authority on Mutant genetics, Charles had a reputation and had been tapped by the CSA to assist in dealing with the rising Mutant population.

Of course, nobody at the CSA knew that Charles himself was a Mutant.

Through the CSA, he had managed to get most of his students. Of the Mutants he and the CSA had worked on together, he had decided to personally take responsibility for Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III, Hank McCoy and Robert Drake.

The limo came to a halt in front of a Midtown building and John turned around and said, "Hey, boss. We're here."

Charles suddenly snapped back to reality and looked through the window at the tall building before him and took a deep breath. He hadn't actually been to Xavier Pharmaceuticals in ages. Though he owned significant shares in the company, he very rarely ever turned up for board meetings (but his twin sister, Cassandra, was Chairman of the Board) or even cared about what new products had been developed by the company. He knew the company had been his family's legacy. But neither he nor his late father had gotten into the family business: in fact, they had both gotten into genetics.

John came out of the limo and opened Charles' side. Though Charles had never enforced it, John had always insisted on wearing a crisp, black suit, white shirt, black tie and black hat whenever he had to chauffeur Charles around. He took great pride in his job and could always be found taking care of the many vehicles in the Xavier garage with minute detail.

As Charles was coming out, he said, "Thanks for bringing me out to the City, John. I'll meet you in a couple hours. I'd say..." He looked down at his gold Rolex. "I think four is a reasonable time. At the address I told you, though. But I need to see Max."

John, a tall, portly man only a couple years older than Charles, nodded his head. "Not a problem, boss."

"Well I guess you can find something fun to do," said Charles. He dipped into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Maybe go see a movie? On me?"

"Thanks, Professor X," said John finally. "I've been dying to see _The Beastmaster_."

Charles already knew that.

With that, Charles turned his back on John and the limo and headed through the glass doors of Xavier Pharmaceuticals. The security guard behind a desk looked up and gave him a welcoming smile.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"What floor does Max Eisenhardt work on? I need to see him."

The guard's face dropped. "Is Mr. Eisenhardt expecting you?"

"No," said Charles, shaking his head. "But I'm sure he won't turn me away. Could you call him?"

"I could call his secretary," said the guard reluctantly. "But I'm afraid that isn't how we do things here at XP. Mr. Eisenhardt is a very busy man. I'm sure he won't have time to just see...May I ask your name, sir?"

"Charles. Charles Xavier. I don't have staff ID, I'm afraid."

There was a notable gasp from the young man and he instructed Charles to have a seat while he called upstairs.

While he waited, Charles gaped at his shiny, black shoes and fiddled with his grey, seersucker jacket, still wondering what this business with Fred was all about.

Didn't Fred know that he had better things to do than to be summoned for frivolity? He had his students to tutor and research to do. His friend and colleague, Moira Mactaggert, had recently isolated the X-Gene and had sent over a paper that she wanted his input on. He and his pupil Hank had been working on a machine that would amplify his telepathic abilities to locate Mutant signatures.

With a smooth, German accent, he suddenly heard, "Charles, what brings you to the City? High tea at the Waldorf?"

Charles looked up at Max Eisenhardt, who was standing in front of him with one hand on the hip of his grey, striped-linen suit, his other hand firmly fastened around some sheets of paper. His eyes, which looked as if he was in need of a couple days sleep, were busily perusing the documents.

Max, at fifty-two, still had the broad-shouldered masculinity of his youth. He was tall and strong and took pride in his body, never intending to look like an old man. He was still devilishly handsome: he had a rugged, square jaw with a deep cleft chin; thick, full eyebrows that accompanied his constantly furrowed brow; steely, grey eyes that could make you feel like the most powerful person on the planet or the most pitiful, depending on how he looked at you; and shiny, salt-and-pepper, curtained hair with a middle parting.

Where Max was tall and imposing, Charles had always simply been slender and some might even say delicate. He was about average height, with pointed ears-which had been the bane of his existence, at least until he'd started losing his beautiful, blonde hair at a young age; a small mouth; a narrow nose; and very arched, thick eyebrows.

If they had gone to high school together, he was sure that Max would have been a jock and he would have been a geek.

"What do you have there?" asked Charles.

"Oh, just some things from R&D," mused Max, with a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. "Nothing to bother you about."

"I've come to bother you," said Charles, rising from his seat. "I'm meeting Agent Duncan at his new offices. And I'd hate to do it alone. He sounded ominous over the phone."

Max pulled his gaze away from his papers and locked eyes with Charles, only to give him a mischievous smile. "Well, well. How could I resist? I've always wanted to meet this Duncan. Let's run away before my secretary tries to wrangle me for a meeting with the CFO. They're the most god-damned boring things you'll ever attend, Charles. Arnold is just boring but his job doubles his natural level of boredom."

He slammed his papers down on the guard's desk and told him to protect them with his life he wanted to keep his job before they left the building.

"It isn't far," said Charles, as they casually strolled through Midtown. "It's actually about a block away."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, taking this rare opportunity to be alone. Back at the School, they were both always so busy. Charles was a slave to his research and to his students and Max was well known to bring work home.

And they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms for the past few days.

"Have you changed your mind about it?"

Charles exhaled at the question. "No, Max. I haven't thought about it. I...I'm not ready for that."

"I could just tell them myself, you know," said Max heatedly. "I'm an adult and they're my children. I don't need your permission for this, Charles. When I came to you, I wasn't asking permission. I'm tired of living a lie."

Charles grimaced. "We aren't living a lie, Max. I don't understand what you want from me." Though he understood exactly.

"Why should I, in my fifties, still be sneaking into the room of the man that I love like a thief in the night?" said Max, gripping Charles by the forearms and staring down into his face. "For what? It's 1982, for God's sake. And I'm tired of pretending that we're just friends when we know that we're a lot more than that. I deserve more than that and you deserve more than that, Charles."

"Well, I don't know if I'm ready to have that conversation with David, Max."

Charles wriggled out of Max's grip and started taking powerful strides towards the address Agent Duncan had provided for him, all the while sensing Max's mind very close to his, bombarding him with waves of disappointment, longing and pain.

He loved Max, of that he was sure.

He could remember the first time they'd met as vividly as if it were yesterday. Fifteen years ago, Charles had been introduced to Max Eisenhardt, the Executive Vice President at Xavier Pharmaceuticals. And from that time, Charles had never been more interested in visiting the offices. Suddenly he had reasons to drop by and before he knew it, Max had asked him out for and he'd accepted. And it became a weekly thing, then daily.

And then one thing had led to another...

Of course, Charles had reluctantly dated women in the past because it was the expectation that he would have an heir to pass on his family's vast fortune to even though he'd always known that he was gay. He'd managed to have the occasional dalliance with a man, but nothing had prepared him for Max.

German Max had had two babies that he'd adopted and had brought along with him to the US, Wanda and Pietro, and he was raising them all by himself. He was a doting father and he loved them like his own and, for a while at least, the four of them formed a little family. So Charles could often be found at Max's Fifth Avenue apartment burping baby Wanda or watching television with Baby Pietro. Charles hadn't shared that he was a Mutant for fear of being ostracized by Max. But, to his surprise, Max shared that he was a Mutant first. Which drew them even closer.

But then an old girlfriend of Charles', young, Israeli lawyer Gabrielle Haller, had resurfaced to say that her baby was his. Responsibility made him feel like he deserved to give the child a family so he broke up with Max and married Gabrielle.

They were simply a bad match, though they were great coparents. Gabrielle had fallen in love with Daniel Shomron, a childhood friend, and she and Charles had an amicable divorce. She and their son, David, now lived in Paris with Daniel.

And almost instantly Charles sought Max out.

By then, Max had been living with Susanna Dane, a junior Human Resources Manager at Xavier Pharmaceuticals, and they had had a child of their own, Lorna. Max, who was really unhappy with Susanna, asked for a divorce and decided to get back together with Charles. And Charles, out of guilt for destroying her family, ensured that Susanna received a promotion to the post of Executive Vice President of Worldwide Human Resources. After the divorce, she began seeing Arnold, who was the CFO at the company.

Charles realized he'd arrived at the building-in big, silver letters over the revolving door of the five storey, glass building were the letters M-U-S-E-and he pushed through, Max still following at a safe distance, so as to not ruffle Charles' feathers any more than he already had.

The lobby itself wasn't very large with only a few, dingy, grey chairs and very bad, fluorescent lighting. There were several large photos of the commissioners Charles had met since he'd been dealing with the CSA and below them was a picture of Agent Duncan: a very recent one, it seemed.

Of course the flag featured prominently behind them and he was staring at Charles with his usual scowl. Agent Duncan had never come across as very approachable, though he really did have respect for Mutants. He seemed to understand that it wasn't their fault that they had been born different.

Either way, Charles could never read his poker face: he forever had a scowl on it.

Charles supposed that Agent Duncan was attractive. He engaged in a lot of exercise even though he was in his fifties so his body was on par with Max's. The consummate military man, Agent Duncan had always kept his hair low. He was tall and his wardrobe seemed to be made up of mostly black or navy blue suits. He had dark, almost black, eyes with little smile lines all around them (which made no sense, since he never smiled) and skin the colour of warm, dark chocolate.

In the lobby, a young, brunette lady dressed in a stuffy, brown turtleneck was busily writing something behind a desk and on either side of her were two armed men in crisp, navy blue suits and dark sunglasses with very stern expressions on their faces. And beside each of them was a single elevator.

"Hello," she said. "Welcome to MUSE. Can I help you?"

"Yes," said Charles. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. Here to see Agent Duncan?"

"Is he expecting you?"

Charles couldn't help from rolling his eyes again. "Yes. He is. We have a meeting for two-thirty."

"Of course," she said, picking up the phone from her desk. "Let me just call upstairs. And is he also expecting your friend?"

Charles looked over his shoulder at Max, who was standing behind him with his arms folded across his considerable chest.

"No," said Charles. "But he's coming with."

After she confirmed that Charles was expected, he and Max were thoroughly rubbed down by the men standing next to the young lady before they were told to go into the elevator and up to the top floor, where they'd find Agent Duncan.

Charles and Max didn't speak a word to one another on the way up and as the elevator door sprang open, there stood Agent Duncan, waiting for them.

"Charles," he said, in his deep voice.

"Fred."

"Is this the Mr. Eisenhardt you've told me so much about?" he asked.

"Indeed."

Agent Duncan put his hand out and Max took it. And they shook hands before Max let go and led them through the small, open plan office, which was full of men and women whispering into their phones, to a medium-sized, corner office that provided sprawling views of Midtown. The office itself was sparsely decorated with cracked club chairs and a stained sofa and there were big, metal cabinets in a corner of the room as well. There was a large, wooden desk with a computer on it and a big, leather office chair behind it.

On the table was a copper nameplate with SAC Frederick Duncan on it.

Agent Duncan pointed to the club chairs in front of the table as he closed the wooden door behind them. And, as they sat, he went around and sat down.

"Charles, do you know why the CSA was formed?" he began.

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, with the development of the superhuman population being what it is, the government felt that it was important to oversee them."

"That would be correct," said Agent Duncan. "It started in Central City, California with a girl who can turn invisible, a guy who can stretch, another who can spontaneously combust and a third who looks like a giant brick going around calling themselves the Fantastic Four. In New York we got a guy swinging from building to building on webs. There's a mad doctor hitting us a Jekyll and Hyde. And this Hyde is big and green and strong. We got a guy flying around in an iron suit. And then there's Captain America, the wartime hero who was trapped in a block of ice since World War I, if you'd believe it. Among others."

"What are you getting at, Agent Duncan?" asked Max.

"Well, what the government wasn't ready for was the appearance of Mutants, which puts a whole new twist on things. As you may have gathered, I've been promoted by the Commission," he began. "I'm now the Special Agent in Charge of MUSE."

"Which stands for?" asked Max.

"Mutant Underground Support Engine. I don't like the name. But I didn't choose it, the Commission did."

"Congratulations, Fred," said Charles. "Max, Charles was my handler while I dealt with the CSA and he often led our recruitment endeavours. So they've moved you to New York? How is that?"

Agent Duncan gave Charles a nondescript shrug as he leaned back in his chair. Notoriously private about his personal life, he continued:

"Mutants are the unexpected phenomenon. Unlike those other guys-except for that spider guy, I'm not convinced he isn't a Mutant-these people are born with their abilities. And some Mutants are benevolent while others are less so. Either way, the CSA has been working to find these Mutants so that they don't harm themselves or others. And, Charles, you've been indispensable to the organization."

"Thank you," said Charles, cracking a smile.

It's always nice to be recognized for one's contributions, even though it was more self-serving than anything else. Charles hadn't met many Mutants while growing up so he'd felt alone for most of his life. He never wanted another one of his kind to feel that way again.

"Charles," said Agent Duncan, "the reason I called you here is because MUSE was put together to do what you and I have been doing all along: remove Mutants from volatile situations to protect them and others. We now have full control of all the resources, we have more agents than we did before, we got a whole science division on the third floor that I'm sure you'll love. And I'd say that we've worked well together over the years, right?"

"Of course," said Charles, nodding his head. "Quite well."

"Good," said Agent Duncan. And an uncharacteristic smile spread across his face. "Because while finding Mutants is still going to be our primary focus, another one of them is to maybe influence public opinion a bit on Mutants. We're sort of taking our cue from the Fantastic Four. MUSE has been mandated to form a team. A team of Mutants who can offset some of the bad PR their kind has been receiving lately."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Max, a horrified expression on his face. "You can't be serious."

"Look, mister," said Agent Duncan, "don't shoot the messenger. MUSE has been put together to support this team."

"Wait," said Charles, putting a hand on Max's forearm. "Wait. This idea is actually inspired. Max, Mutants are showing up all the time, to sometimes catastrophic results. Some are attacked, some of them don't even know what they're doing and they hurt others, and some have been using their abilities for wrong. If a team of Mutants is formed to counteract that, to show that all Mutants aren't bad or dangerous or volatile, isn't that a good thing?"

"No, Charles," protested Max. "It isn't. Why not check the ignorance of the humans who fear and hate them? It isn't a Mutant's fault that he's born with his abilities. Why doesn't the government educate the public?"

"We're working on that," said Agent Duncan. "But we're getting some pushback, Mr. Eisenhardt. Some officials-there's a Senator Kelly who's especially vocal against Mutants and he's gaining support-who think that all of them should be imprisoned because of the threat they pose. But the CSA, as an independent agency, disagrees and, instead, wishes to show the public that a lot of good can come from these people. If they could love Mr. Fantastic, why can't they love a Mutant? And this is where you come in, Charles."

"Me?" gasped Charles. Had they discovered that he was a telepath?

"Yes. Your students-the good ones who you have up in Westchester. Jean, Scott, Warren, Robert, Hank. They...Well, they pass, Charles. They would be more palatable to the public because they look like you and me, Charles. Well, that Hank is kind of big but still. From a PR perspective, it would be a good thing."

Max got up from his seat. "Charles, let's go. Agent Duncan, I don't believe we're comfortable putting Charles' students-children, need I remind you-in that kind of danger. Superheroics? Really? Robert Drake is fifteen-years-old, for heaven's sake. Preposterous. And the gall of this agency to think that it could just use our-Mutant-people conveniently!"

He started heading towards the door but when he looked over his shoulder, he noticed that Charles hadn't yet made a move: he was still seated where he was.

"Charles, are you coming?" he barked.

"No," said Charles, in a small voice. "I think I'd like to hear more about this initiative."

Immediately Charles felt waves of rage emanating from Max, telling him that he needs to follow him out of that building immediately.

But Charles remained immobile.

"I really can't believe this," said Max, shaking his head. "You would put the lives of children in danger for something like this without a second thought. But for something as simple as your relationship you can come up with all the excuses in the world to protect the children. I'm so disappointed in you, Charles."

Charles felt his eyes burning as he tried to keep it together. He was not about to have this conversation in front of Agent Duncan.

"I'll see you back at the estate, Max."

But Max was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"You'll love it here," said Lorna Dane, the fifteen-year-old who had all but taken Jean up.

Lorna was petite and paper thin, some might say. She had wavy, chestnut hair that framed a cherubic, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a staggering emerald green that glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Jean had thought that, had Lorna been taller, she could have made a very good model.

"The classes are really like being home-schooled. Have you been home-schooled? I doubt you were. There are so many good schools in New York! I miss New York. I visit my mom and stepdad there. Anyway, so you plan your whole day and the Professor guides us or whatever. But, for me, the best part of the day is PE. You know, Physical Education? That's where we get to practice our abilities and what not. Get better at them. So when we graduate we won't, like, hurt people or something."

Jean had found herself on the far side of the lake with Lorna, who was currently threading water next to her, and Lorna's boyfriend, Bobby, who was floating nearby, at her feet. She was sitting on the jetty in her bathing suit, her feet in the cool lake water.

For a while after she'd left the Professor's office and changed into her bathing suit, she'd found herself lurking by the mansion like some kind of weirdo while the other kids were frolicking in the nearby lake. She could have heard their shrieks as they enjoyed the summer fun and she even saw Warren—the angel—flying up into the air and dive down into the lake, to much fan appreciation. Especially by a dark-haired, voluptuous girl who was in a barely-there bikini.

But she hadn't actually gone to the lake until Lorna and Bobby appeared behind her and led her to it. But not to the jetty the other kids had been inhabiting, but another, on the other side. She had been hoping that Scott would have called her over. But, instead, he just looked at her as she passed by, not even bothering to call her over to introduce her to his friends.

Lorna and Bobby were perfectly nice but, at seventeen, Jean felt like she was way more mature than they were.

"Okay, Lor, I think you've tired Jean out," said Bobby, pulling his body up onto the jetty next to Jean.

Bobby was slender and lanky and awkward at fifteen. He had curly, dark-brown hair and cool, blue eyes. He was handsome, Jean supposed, but in a less look-at-me way as Warren. It was subtle: a kind of boy-next-door attractiveness, Jean guessed.

Since meeting them, something had just felt…off about their pairing. While Jean was a telepath and she was also telekinetic, she was also an empath: which meant that she could sense the emotions of others. Empathy was a natural extension of her telepathy, Professor Xavier had told her, and most telepaths had the ability of empathy, though to varying degrees.

She'd learnt that she'd had this gift the hard way, unfortunately.

But with them, she didn't get the feeling that they were the typical couple. From Lorna, she felt her deep feelings for Bobby: her devotion to him. Like she couldn't be without him. But she didn't get that same depth of feeling from Bobby. Jean sensed that he adored Lorna, but as a very close friend. A companion. Not a lover.

But it really wasn't Jean's business to get in the middle of all of that.

"So what's your ability, Jean?" asked Bobby.

Jean squinted her eyes in the direction of the water at her feet and used her telekinesis to scoop up some of it, shaping it into a perfectly spherical ball, floating it above Lorna's head with ease.

"You can control water?" asked Lorna.

Annoyed, Jean allowed her water ball to plop into the lake.

With that, Jean squinted her eyes at Lorna herself and, with the same ease, Lorna began floating out of the lake and ended up tiptoeing on top of the water.

"Damn!" squealed Bobby.

"I'm telekinetic," she said, gently lowering Lorna back into the lake. "I can move things with my mind."

"I've never met someone like that before," said Lorna.

 _I'm also a telepath_ , she said to them both. _Like the Professor_.

"I hate when he does that," said Lorna and Bobby in unison, causing them all to laugh.

"Me too," said Jean. "What are your powers?"

Bobby stood up and took a deep breath before jumping as if he was going back into the lake when, all of a sudden, from the tips of his fingers frost formed a bridge beneath him and he was suddenly sliding all around Jean and Lorna. After his display, he returned to Jean's side and assumed his seat again, a curt smile on his face.

Lorna suddenly began to float out of the water and she extended one of her hands in the direction of Bobby's ice bridge. A green beam of energy left her palm, which shattered the ice into a million pieces.

"It's actually a lot more complicated than that," she said. "The Professor calls it magnetic field manipulation. I can create force fields, ride the Earth's magnetic fields and that beam you saw was what my dad and I call our magnetic pulse."

"Lorna! Bobby! What are you doing?" yelled the buxom brunette from across the lake, at the other jetty.

The girl began making her way around the lake towards them, the rest of her group (including Scott) in tow. In a few moments they arrived and Jean was able to see her up close.

The girl was tall and statuesque like some of the models Jean had met whenever she visited her mom at work. She was certainly beautiful, with cascades of wavy, dark hair that she'd slung across one shoulder. Her skin had a naturally sun-kissed color that Jean would never be able to attain, no matter how much she tanned. Her eyes were a dark green with flecks of gold in them.

Behind her was a young man who shared almost all of the same features as the girl and who Jean assumed to be her brother. He was about average height and had a much more defined body than Bobby's, though not as good as Warren's or even Scott's.

Warren and Scott closed the group.

"What do you want, _Wanda_?" spat Lorna, as if the girl's name was a curse word, as she allowed Bobby to pull her out of the lake.

"I want you to stop using your powers like they're toys," said Wanda, folding her arms across her considerable bosom.

"Oh, why don't you mind your business, Wanda," said Lorna, standing up and looking Wanda dead in the eyes, her own arms folded across her chest. "You're not even a Mutant. I mean, you shouldn't even be here. I wish Dad had sent you to boarding school or something."

"Hey, that's unnecessarily mean, Lorna," said Wanda's twin, getting in between the two girls. "Wanda just wants you to be careful. And if she had to go, don't you think I'd have to as well? I'm not a Mutant, after all."

Lorna's face softened. "Well, you've always been a darling, Pietro. I'm sorry. It's that…I don't know what to call Wanda!"

Overhead there was a sudden clap of thunder as storm clouds formed seemingly out of nowhere. Torrential rains fell on the group and they all frantically ran back to the mansion to get out of it.

"What the hell?" said Warren, closing the door behind their group. Jean couldn't help from thinking that he looked even more beautiful wet and she smiled a little.

 _Students, please join me in my office_ , said Professor Xavier. _There's something that I need to discuss with you_.

"I guess we should go change, guys," said Scott, making his way out of the kitchen. "Five minutes, people. Let's not keep the Professor waiting."

Jean was the last to arrive at the office, she realized, as the rest of the student body of Xavier's was already seated in different parts of the Professor's office.

There were two people she hadn't seen before: an older guy, who was standing behind the Professor, his arms folded across his face and his nostrils flared; and a guy about Jean's age who was squatting in a corner.

The squatter was in a lily-white lab coat. He had dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and he was unnaturally hairy. His feet and hands were inhumanly large and Jean's mind wandered to dark places: he was in a room filled with several Mutants. But not one of them actually _looked_ different from a human. He was the first that she'd seen who looked like he wasn't human. She wondered if he'd ever be able to graduate and leave the mansion like the rest of them could.

He caught her looking and she quickly pulled her eyes away, though she felt a wave of sadness hit her from his direction. And she felt like she wanted to cry.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Grey," said Professor Xavier. "Now, there's something that I'd like to discuss with you all. I was approached by a government agency to put together a team. A team of Mutants who could cast a good light on our people. They could be superheroes."

"Like Spider-Man?" asked Bobby, getting up from his chair.

Again, Jean felt something that she wasn't supposed to feel from Bobby again. But she kept it to herself.

"Something like that," the Professor said. "More like the Fantastic Four. And I'll seek your parents' permission to have you do this. But you'll have the responsibility of recruiting new students to fill our rooms, help people out of dangerous situations. It will be good PR."

"It sounds dangerous," said Scott, who was leaning against a bookcase in a green turtleneck and brown cords. "Very dangerous."

"I would expect someone like you to see the dangers in this," said the gentleman behind the Professor.

"Max," said the Professor, giving the guy a stern look.

"I think it sounds great," said Warren, who was seated cross-legged in khaki shorts, a blue polo and a yellow sweater wrapped around his broad shoulders. "I don't know how I didn't think of it myself."

"I doubt my mom is going to be okay with that," said Bobby, sitting back down and slouching into the chair. "She's annoying like that."

"She's just looking out for you," said Lorna, taking her boyfriend's hand and squeezing it tight.

"As am I," said Max. "Lorna, you will most certainly _not_ be participating in this scheme. I won't have you endangering yourself."

"Dad!" yelped Lorna.

"I think it's very reckless, Uncle Charles," added Wanda. "Dad's right."

"I intend to be there with the team every step of the way," said Professor Xavier, waving his hands. "Not in the field, of course. But overseeing, training. At the first sign of danger the agency is going to swoop in and extract you."

"Professor, I don't know if it's a good idea," said the big guy Jean had noticed in the beginning. "It does sound quite dangerous. While I understand the need to foster good relations between humans and Mutants, does that mean that the lives of your students should be endangered? Fighting crime?"

"Endangered is a bit of a hyperbole, Hank," said Warren.

"Mighty big word there, Worthington," said Bobby, with a chuckle.

Warren glared at Bobby before her continued: "As the Professor said, we'll have an extraction team. Support. We're not exactly powerless, you know.

"Yeah? Well let's see you convince our parents to be okay with it," said Bobby.

"Leave that to me," said Professor Xavier. "For now, continue your studies and your training. In fact, the agency is going to build an even better training center for you in the basement of the school. There's just so much unused space there. It's going to be great. So go back to your summer fun."

The students all filed out of the room, chattering on about the possibility of becoming superheroes. Except for Hank. Hank ran down the corridor and disappeared.

"What do you think about it, Jean?" asked Lorna.

Jean didn't really think it was a bad idea. "I'd do it." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"As would I," said Warren, sliding up next to Jean and smiling down at her. "We'd be teammates."

From Wanda Jean felt waves of jealousy.

"Come on, Warren," said Wanda, grabbing the angel by the forearm. "We have to go practice the waltz. You wouldn't want me being embarrassed at the debutante ball."

"Debutante ball?" said Jean.

"The Manhattan Debutante Ball," said Wanda, flipping her hair and rolling her eyes. "Hosted by the New York chapter of the Hellfire Club." She proceeded to give Jean the once over before twitching her nose. "I doubt you would have been invited. Anyway, Warren is my escort."

"Duty calls," said Warren with a shrug, as he allowed Wanda to lead him away.


End file.
